


Waffles

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: F/M, Humor, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-05-10
Updated: 1999-05-10
Packaged: 2018-11-10 15:39:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11129772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A romance told from Thatcher's point of view.





	Waffles

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Waffles

Hello Fellow Duesers, the following is my very, very first fanfic and I'm a neurotic newbie author so easy-up on the flaming otters, TYK. It just sort of spilled out of me one day, kind of like a cuppa coffee all over a crowded desk. I went with the waffles, well, because I *like* waffles and as an oblique, esoteric homage to Robert Heinlein, my favorite author, who also had waffles cook up in a story or two. Definite Romance rating, indefinite time frame, sappy *and* syrupy, **easily PG for the implied sex** and gale-force Thatcher Warnings since it is written from her point of view (an internal monologue, if you will). Quite possibly even Plot? What Plot? My mom liked it, that should be a clue. Standard disclaimer applies 'cuz if they *were* mine, DS would be on the air longer than Coronation Street! Enjoy!  
  


## Waffles

  
by M. L. Ross   
  
  
Chicago, Illinois, 9:13 AM.   
Meg opened her eyes slowly, letting her soul fit back into its customary place on its own good time. Stretching like a cat before coming fully awake, enjoying the warmth of the snuggly duvet cocoon against her bare skin. A soft, contented sigh. A heartbeat later, dark eyes flew wide open and as she snapped upright she remembered what had happened yesterday, and last night, in vivid detail and glorious Technicolor.  
  
_*OH* *MY* *GOD*!! *Fraser*!!_   
  
_I can *do* this. I am, after all, an Inspector in the RCMP_. Meg smoothed her hands over the shorty PJs she had quickly donned and slowly made her way down the hall towards the kitchen from the bathroom. There were quiet cooking noises coming from behind the swinging door, mixed in with a wolf whine or two and some really lovely breakfast foody smells. Screwing up her courage to the sticking point, she pushed the door open wide and walked in.  
  
There he stood, in those jeans and that white sweater of his from yesterday, in front of her rarely-used stove next to a countertop scattered with bowls and utensils. She looked around at the one room of the apartment she used the least, amazed to see that it looked cleaner somehow, even in the midst of what looked like a serious breakfast in progress. The table was set for two with folded napkins and glasses of apple juice (one place had a big glass of milk next to it), the cans and boxes of her pantry shelves seemed to have rearranged themselves, there was a wonderful smell coming from the coffeemaker and there was perfectly browned and buttered toast, ready and waiting.  
  
"Fraser", the word slipped out of Meg's mouth but was it a question, a statement, an accusation, what?   
Fraser's eyes were on her now but before she could speak he had turned his attention to some sort of appliance on her countertop. He opened the lid and as the smell reached her nose, he turned one beautiful golden brown waffle out onto a plate and stepped toward her, offering it to her with a smile.   
  
"Good morning. Would you like bacon with your waffle? Or eggs perhaps?", he queried gently, looking at her intently, trying to gage her reaction.  
  
_Waffles. He made *me* waffles for breakfast. Me,_ the person who has made his life merry hell on a daily basis for over the past year. His boss, his superior officer, the Dragon Lady, the Ice Queen. The woman he'd spent the whole of last night loving to paradise and beyond three incredible times and damn near four if I hadn't fallen asleep! *Me*. I got the most amazing night of passion the world has ever seen *and* waffles.  
  
_Waffles. He made me *waffles* for breakfast. *How*_ did he know they are my most favorite thing in the whole wide world, drowning in syrup. I simply can't make them properly for love or money or cook much of anything else for that matter and how *did* he find that old waffle iron away up on the top shelf? It hasn't seen the light of day since I moved to Chicago and hasn't even been used since my mother gave it to me, *now*, out of the blue, those blue eyes, *waffles*.   
  
_Waffles. He made me waffles for *breakfast*. Well,_ he couldn't very well make them for dinner, now could he? How long has he been awake anyway? Bacon takes time to cook, even I know that, and that waffle batter is from *scratch* or I'll eat my Stetson! *Toast*? But my toaster has been broken for a good three weeks! Did he fix my toaster too? How? He must have taken Diefenbaker out for a walk and gone down to the grocery store and where did these flowers come from? They're beautiful! And the strawberries and that heavenly smelling coffee! Did he buy them for me? Me? All this work, for breakfast, for me?  
  
_Waffles. *He* made me waffles for breakfast. Constable_ Benton Fraser of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of his father and remained attached as Liaison with the Canadian Consulate. The most annoying Mountie ever made, minted or molded anywhere at any time! Best friend of the most annoying deaf wolf and the most annoying cop in Chicago. The very same Fraser who can't stop helping or trying to help everyone he meets, can't stop meddling in and helping to solve all those cases for Vecchio and the Chicago PD. He of the beautiful, beautiful blue eyes, clever hands, strong body, brilliant mind, that pelt of hair (so soft under her hands), old-fashioned morals and manners and speech. Benton Fraser who doesn't lie, doesn't flirt, doesn't lose his temper and doesn't ever seem to get dirty or mussed or have a hair out of place. Ben who offers me loyalty, strength, passion companionship, friendship, joy, laughter, confusion, frustration, excitement and most importantly, love. All there on the same china plate with that sweet, golden waffle whether he knows it or not and then he goes and offer me bacon besides.  
  
_Waffles! He made me waffles for breakfast!_   
  
  
  



End file.
